Amidst the Marshes and Snow
by XBolt51
Summary: AU Years after the Rebellion has ended, Jon Snow and his companions are sent to Winterfell
1. Vows

"I promised to protect the boy. I promised Lyanna" Ned said, holding his nephew safely in his arms. He looked at him again. He was all wolf, no dragon. The newborn babe then smiled at him, Lyanna's smile. True-born, bastard, this boy was a Stark. The blood of the First Men strongly courses through his veins.

"Yes. You did promise to Lyanna to keep the boy safe. We both did. I am simply saying, perhaps it will be best if I protect him." Howland said. He couldn't believe his ears. He had come to know Howland well. He was a good man and a skilled warrior. And now he asks to take away Lyanna's son: the one good, the one pure and innocent thing that came out of this war?

"My people are loyal and can keep him safe. He and my daughter can grow up together as friends. The boy can live and thrive and grow up happy" Howland said.

"He is of my blood. My family." Ned protested.

"How would your lady wife feel about that, Ned? Everyone knows about you and Ashara. She may be a loving woman but can you count on her to love Jon? A child borne from another?" Howland said. He already was loving the boy. Perhaps Catelyn could love the child. But what if Howland was right? He would be asking much of his lady wife. To care for and love a stranger's child. Asking her to raise his "bastard" would be too much of her.

But perhaps he was being selfish. The boy would need to learn how to thrive, have a home and hearth that will love him. He wouldn't be able to truly love the boy, give him what he needed. As he thought long and hard about this, Jon began to stir in his arms. He looked at the boy once more.

He then carefully placed the babe in Howland's arms. Desperately trying to fight back the tears forming in his eyes. "Can you assure me that he will be safe? And happy?" "Of course, Ned. I'll make sure that he will be safe and happy in the Neck. My wife will understand. She is close to the Old Gods as much as I am. She would know the imperativeness of the child's safety." He then leaned to the boy's face and whispered, "Stay safe, little wolf"

* * *

No matter how many times he went up to the top of Greywater Watch, it never surprised him. The thirteen-year-old boy absolutely loved it. The castle was built on and around a massive weirwood tree. Its roots had been twisted and formed around the pillars, columns, and walls of stone. Over the many long ages since the weirwood was planted and formed into the island, smaller trees of various varieties, as well as grass and vines, had taken root there as well.

"I knew you'd be here" Meera said, flashing a smile. "I still can't believe it after all the times I come up here. Just how does it float?" Jon inquired, even though he knew the answer.

Meera shrugged. "Father must have told you a million times. We don't know. There are stories of course. It is said that the castle was built as a keep for a lesser noble in the Age of Heroes. The owner planted a weirwood in the garden of the keep and it grew over time. Terrible rains came one spring, or fall, and the keep began to sink. They cried out to the gods for a way to stop the keep from sinking, and the weirwood pulled up its roots, wrapped them around the keep, and pulled the whole structure from the riverbank. The keep floated until they came to the marshes and bogs around us and it was here that the owners decided to stay. So the story goes."

"I know how the story goes. I love the story. It just ... still amazes me after all this time" Jon said. "i thought you and your uncle Lucen would be helping Jojen train with the spear and Rippletorn" he said. He always marveled at the Reed's Valyrian steel blade. It was a rather thin and dark-colored blade but razor sharp as far as Valyrian steel goes. And its jet-black handle was supposedly made out of the skin of a lizard-lion.

"I was going to, but he was away with my father. They've been going away from us lately, like they're hiding something. And mother is busy with little Eddard. Weren't you going to train with Joseth and Andrys? Maybe kiss Lady Asheyne again?" Meera teased him. Joseth Cray and Andrys Fenn were some of the fiercest warriors who helped defend the North during the Rebellion and knighted by the King himself. Joseth looked more fiercer of the two with his two diagonal red scars across his face and chapped lips. He always enjoyed being called Ser Swamp. Andrys looked like a green boy than an esteemed warrior and veteran with his deep hazel eyes and messy brown hair.

"They were gonna help with my sword training today. But they had some affairs to handle. And Lady Asheyne was the one who kissed me" he said. Lady Asheyne Greengood of Greenrock annoyed him to no end. Her auburn hair, pale skin and big black eyes made her a rare beauty in the Neck. But her pouty lips made her look like a fish. Meera then laughed at him. "Just relax, Jon. Y'know I only tease." she chuckled. "I know you do" Jon said.

She then took out two quivers filled with arrows and bows. "Want to practice again?" she asked. "Y'know I'm going to beat you again?" "I let you win last time!" she said. "Right, let's go!" he said, going down the granite staircase and out to the swamplands. He then began to shoot down anything that moved within sight.

"Looks like I caught our dinner first!" Meera said, holding up a rather large rabbit. As they walk back to Greywater, Howland has the strangest look on him. "Jon, I need you to come to my chambers at once" he said in a lordly voice. "Did you do something to anger him?" Meera asked. "When has your father ever been angry?" Jon countered.

Jon then went into Lord Howland's chambers and fearful thoughts began to creep into his mind. _Mayhaps I did anger him?_ he thought. They were relatively simple and had the lizard-lion sigil adorned on the walls. "Jon" Howland said. He looked sad. "Did I do something wrong?" Jon asked. "No, my boy. You've done nothing wrong. But it's time that you go" Howland said. "Go? Your making me leave?" Jon said, astonished by this. "Not leave. Go. It's time for you to go Jon Snow. To your real family" Howland said. "You are my real family" Jon said. Howland then smiled; it was a sad smile though. "I made a promise to a good friend of mine that I would raise you as and among my own. But you must go. But not alone. Meera, Jojen, I know you're there!" Howland said.

Meera and Jojen then opened the door meekly. "How did you know?" Meera asked. "How would I not know the comings and goings of my own castle? And you're not as quiet as you think you are. Your feet are as loud as a lizard-lion's snapping jaw" Howland japed. Meera and Jojen chuckled. "I am sending the three of you to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell" Howland said.

 _ **I found it to be a little strange as to why no one had done this before. I mean, Jon and Meera seems like a good pairing if I say so myself. That will be the primary focus of this story. I'm not sure as to how long I am going to make it though.**_


	2. Winterfell

"Are we close?" Jojen asked

"I don't think so?" Meera said

"How do we know if we're close?" Jojen asked

"We'll know. Winterfell is said to be the most grandest castle in all the North!" Jon exclaimed.

Having left Greywater with only Andrys Fenn and Bartimos Blackmyre as part of their escort, they had become ecstatic about arriving at Winterfell. But the sight of Moat Cailin had excited them as well. "It's only been five days since we left. Quit your bellyaching!" Bartimos said. He hated to admit but of all the crannogmen he'd come to know: Bartimos Blackmyre of the Shady Glen was the one that scared him. An unusually large man from the swamps; towering at least six feat and had every part of him ridged and hard with muscle. His valyrian steel blade Gnarl made him look even more deadly. The ripples in the steel glinted in the faint light. The blade did indeed have a darker tint to it than Rippletorn. It was a shortsword, that much was plain, and it was clearly deadly.

"We should make camp here and then leave at sunrise" Howland said. They then began to set up the encampments and began to rest.

But he just couldn't. He couldn't simply rest. Jon found himself wondering about his real family. He knew that he was a Snow. But he never felt like it. The crannogmen didn't seem to notice or care. Would my real family care? Do I have any brothers or sisters? Will they hate me?

"Jon" He then turned his head back and saw it was only Meera. "Oh" "What are you doing? We're going to be leaving at first light" she said. "I know. I should be sleeping but I can't." "You're excited to meet them? Aren't you?" Meera said, her voice wavering a bit. "I want to know them. I want to see what they're like. Howland never told me much about them, other that they're good people" Jon said.

"I know they are. Whenever father talks about Lord Eddard Stark, its like he's singing a song. Why else would he name Little Edd after him?" she said, smiling. "I'm feeling kinda sleepy now. G'night, Meera" "G'night, Jon" she said, giving him a small but warm hug. As he went back into his tent, she found herself blushing.

* * *

Something about today seemed strange. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He then went to the Great Hall to break his fast with his family. Suddenly the doors of the hall opened and a guard walked in. "Pardon me my lord," he said, "but we have visitors."

"Who is it?" asked Ned. "Lord Howland Reed, with his children Lord Jojen and Lady Meera. And a small party of crannogmen"

Ned immediately stood up. "Let them in," he commanded. A short man wearing a green attire walked in. His faced looked haggard, which must have been from the long journey from the Greywater Watch, but still he smiled. Behind him stood his children. Jojen Reed must be about Sansa's age. He was short and slim and had unusual deep green eyes which were almost the colour of moss. Meera Reed must be about Robb's age, a woman grown. Her green eyes were not as unusual as her brothers. She was wearing the same attire as her father and brother, which hid any sign of her femininity. She was carrying an unusual spear with three prongs on her one shoulder. Ned then took note of the boy right beside Meera. Jon. Was this truly the same boy he had given to Howland to raise and care for? He had his face but all he can see is Lyanna's.

He then walked towards the Reeds and stopped in front of them. The Reeds immediately bent their knee. "My lord, we are at your service," said Howland then pulled him up. "I am having none of that from you," he said, and embraced him in a brotherly hug, both men laughing all the while.

"It's great to be back to this place after such a long time," Lord Howland said, "Ned, allow me to introduce my son and heir, Jojen Reed and my daughter Meera." He then nodded at them curtly. "Ser Bartimos Blackmyre, Ser Andrys Fenn and my ward Jon" Howland introduced his party. "You have come at a great time. Please sit with us and enjoy this feast." Lord Howland sat beside him, while his children sat between Arya and Rickon. And Jon sat rather uncomfortably between Robb and Theon.

"Do you fight with that spear, how do you do it?" Arya asked. "Well," Meera spoke, "you just try sticking them with the pointy ends."

* * *

"So, what do you think of them?" Meera asked, as they were shown to their chambers. "They all seem like good people. I've never known such warmth other then Greywater" Jon replied. "What about you, Jojen?" Jon asked the boy. "It's alright, I guess" Jojen said.

"I don't want to rest yet. I want to use their training grounds" Meera said. "That sounds like a challenge" Jon said. "It sounds like your demise, Jon" Jojen japed. "is that a fact?" Jon said, mockingly. "Let's go then!" Meera insisted, dragging the both of them to the training grounds.

As they found themselves there, Meera got out a blunt spear which was made from a dark oak shaft. Jon then took out his own which was made of bone with a blunt metal head. They both stood at opposite ends listening to the rules of the spar. "Alright, then. No killing shots. Its over when the other yields. Other than that you may do whatever you wish as long as no permanent injuries are resulted." Jojen said. And so he walked over to the side of the sparring ring, signalling for them to begin.

Both Meera and Jon used different techniques. While Meera kept her spear across her chest at a diagonal angle and her feet shoulder width apart and pointed forward, Jon used a more ancient form keeping his body sideways with the spear under his right shoulder and across his his right foot pointed forward but his left point to the side and his knees bent.

Observing from the side Lord stark spoke to Howland and Ser Rodrik softly "Both of their forms are impeccable especially for their age" "My Meera is one of the best fighters around. Swift and agile. Jon's a bit more graceful and been trying to learn swordsmanship from some of the few crannogmen that actually use swords. Like Ser Andrys and Ser Joseth" "I remember Joseth. Knighted by King Robert himself. Ser Swamp" Lord Stark and Reed then heartily chuckled.

And with such swiftness, Meera struck. Dashing forward before coming to a stop and swinging her spear in a downwards diagonal movement meant to slash Jon. However Jon was already moving dashing to the right of Meera. He rotates his wrist so his forearm is facing upwards and swings Halfway through the swing his left meets the shaft of the spear grabbing and adding more momentum. The two spears meet. Shaft on shaft. Before both fighters dash back putting distance between one-another. Jon initiates first this time with a simple Jab which Meera side steps and Jon having over-lunged and off balanced was hit by Meera's neck height swing of her spear. The blunt blade of her spear hitting his neck sure kill if it were sharp and no armour present. "Meera the Mighty is the winner!" Jojen announced. Jon and Meera both shook hands. Both having enjoyed the short spar they had. Jon did not feel sad about the loss for he knew he had over lunged the simple strike. And swore he would not do so next time.

"Alright, you won that" "I knew I would" Meera said smugly. "Children! Come here" Howland said. Meera, Jojen and Jon then approached the lords cautiously. Howland then had that same sad look. "You'll be staying here. All three of you" he said. "Why?" Jojen asked. "I want you to learn and become. Jojen, you will learn what it means to be a bannerman of the North here. Meera, I want you to thrive here and be the warrior I know you are" Howland said somberly. He then faced Jon. "Your place is here. For now. Be strong as you and I know you are" Howland said. "I will" Jon said, giving the man a tightening bear hug. "Good luck to you all" he said.

He then went to his chambers with Meera and Jojen following suit. "It's strange now that we're going to be staying here" Jojen said. While he didn't say it, the look on his face surely told everything: he was already missing Greywater Watch. "I know. But we'll have each other" Meera said. "Well, I'm rather tired. Good night, Jon. Good night, sister" Jojen said, hugging her tightly. "Good night Jojen" they muttered. "Good night, Meera. And I will beat you" Jon said. "Good night, Jon. And not bloody likely" Meera said, giving him a small hug.

As she went to her chambers, she couldn't help but wonder. Were his eyes always that grey?

 **Looks like Meera, Jon and Jojen are gonna be spending a lot of time with the Starks now.**

 **Oh, and to KBlack25; Jon is actually aware of his heritage but has lived in blissful ignorance for the most part; he's heard rumour about him being the son of Eddard Stark from fellow crannogmen. All the more reason as to why he was excited to go to Winterfell. And the Reeds are the only family he's come to know and love**


	3. Iron vs Ice

The one thing he couldn't handle was the stares. Some of the people would stare at him strangely like they were staring at a ghost. Ser Rodrik explained to him later that it was cause of his resemblance to Lord Stark. Lord Stark, his father, would stare at him pleasantly but his eyes gave off a distinctive sad aroma, much like Howland's. Lady Catelyn eyed him often; seemingly to tell him that this was not his place. Theon Greyjoy would eye him strangely, like he was trying to search in the depths of his soul or something. And Jeyne Poole would keep giving him that strange stare that Asheyne gave him after their kiss.

He did get along amazingly well with the young heir of Winterfell, Robb. Arya was wild and willful, asking to participate in Meera, Jojen and his archery lessons. Bran would want to tag along with them. Although, he would stare at Meera from time to time with that same look Jeyne gave him from time to time. Rickon was just as wild and lively as Arya, and would often ask Jon to place him on his shoulders. He would then shout something like "I'm riding a wolf!" or "I'm riding a lizard-lion!". Sansa was very polite to him. And she and Jojen would eye each other rather strangely.

It was strange being at Winterfell. Greywater had no formal master-at-arms, no real knights, or maester. There was no captain of guards because everything was well guarded. But still, it left him wondering as to what his own purpose here would be? Would it be to truly learn and become like Jojen and Meera? Or something else?

"House Stark. Their seat is Winterfell. Their sigil is a direwolf running on white. Winter is Coming"

"Very good, Jon. Now, this one?" kind old maester Luwin asks, pointing to another region.

"House Karstark. Formed by Lord Karlon Stark. Their sigil is a white sunburst on black. Sun of Winter" Jon replied.

"Jojen? How about this one?"

"House Mormont. Their seat is Bear Island. Their sigil is a black bear on green. Here We Stand"

"Good. Robb, here's a tricky one for you"

"House Morrigen. Their seat is Crow's Nest. Their sigil is a flying crow on storm-green. On the Wings of War"

"Very good, Robb. Now, what can you tell me about the Reeds?"

"House Reed. Their seat is Greywater Watch. Their sigil is a lizard-lion on grey-green. Blood of the Earth"

"What would you have to know about a bunch of frog-eaters?" Theon snarled.

"Those frog-eaters make up part of the North. We crannogmen have defended the Neck since the Age of Heroes" Jojen replied. "You're a bunch of cheaters and cowards" Theon snarled out. "And what does that make you then?" Jon said, rising to Jojen's defense. He was coming to love Winterfell, but the one thing he did not enjoy was Theon Greyjoy's attitude toward them. "Watch it, bastard. Or I might just beat you into the dirt, oh, I'm sorry. Beat you into the Snow"

"Theon, knock it off!" Robb said, trying to stop it. "Hold it. The bastard wants to settle something. Let's settle something then. On the training grounds." Theon said. "Alright then. I'll see you on the training grounds, Ser Squid!" Jon snarled back.

* * *

Jon and Theon looked up at each other, sword in hand. Robb desperately wanted them to stop the fight but nothing he could say or do would stop the two from wanting to kill one another. Jojen looked anxious. As did Meera, hoping that neither one of them would get hurt. Arya and Bran were excited about the fight and had already begun to whisper on the likelihood of Jon winning. Even Jeyne Poole was there to watch, wanting Jon to win.

Theon had swung first but Jon had quickly evaded the swing. Theon then swung again but Jon dodged it as well. Jon then swung but rather than with force, he swung like he was born to it. Just so graceful and quick. This was irritating to Theon. Especially that he couldn't tell anything from that bastard face of his; long, solemn and guarded—a face that gives nothing away. So much like Lord Stark's own face. _Was he really raised among crannogmen? He fights with swords like he began when he could walk_ , Theon thought.

Theon swung again but Jon then blocked it with his own blade and charged at him with his shoulder. Jon then swung his sword so hard that he had knocked off Theon's right from his hand. The utter force of it caused the arrogant man to fall down into the mud. "Do you yield?" Jon asked.

"I yield" Theon mumbled lowly.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Jon said, placing the blunted tourney steel at his throat.

"I yield! Alright?!"

"What's going on here? What're you doing?" Ser Rodrik came walking towards them. "Fucking bastard started it!" Theon snarled out, as he got up. "Shut it, Theon!" Arya yelled out. "I demand a rematch, with Ser Rodrik present. So you won't cheat!" Theon snarled out again. "Cheat? Jon beat you fair and square, you stupid squid!" Meera yelled. "Shut it, swamp slut!" Theon growled. Jon then punched him hard in the jaw, putting him back into the mud.

Robb then knelt to help his fallen friend. In the midst of the rumblings, Jon went off. "JON!" Arya cried out, spotting him taking a horse and riding off. His riding was almost like hers; and she was considered to be "half a horse" at times. Meera and Arya then snuck off and followed him.

* * *

Jon didn't know just how long and how far he had come to ride on. It had felt like he had ridden for days. The only thing that the did know was that he was somewhere in the wolfswood; possibly near the Long Lake or the Last River.

Suddenly, he heard something snap. Possibly a twig. Crap, I should've taken a real sword, Jon thought. The only thing he had to defend himself was the blunted tourney steel blade. Suddenly, he heard a small growl of some kind.

"Who's there?" he called out.

The growl sounded closer and louder.

"Show yourself!" he called out again, pointing out the blade in front of him. Suddenly, a large figure came out. A wolf. No, wolves aren't so large. It was a direwolf. But it couldn't be. Direwolves don't exist, at least south of the Wall that is. It was steadily approaching him. It had silvery grey fur and dark golden eyes. Suddenly, Jon simply dropped the blade. As it approached, he felt something strange. Like a familiarity with it.

It was now close to him, exhaling hot breath. Rather than bare its teeth and bite off his face as expected, the direwolf simply licked it. Jon began to laugh at the tickling sensation of its wide tongue on his face. He then pet it and it began to comfortably whine. Jon then took notice on just how large it is. Jon the realized that this was female direwolf: a mother. The direwolf then turned its head and gave him a quick lick on the face.

"Hey! Where're you going?" Jon called out to it. The direwolf simply turned its head and gave off a low whine. And then it left. What was that? It felt like it was trying to tell me something. As if we were to meet again or something.

 ** _Thank you for following and enjoying this story. Please kindly review and give suggestions as to what you think should and/or want to happen._**


	4. Weep

Meera and Arya had been riding long and hard, looking for Jon. Theon had always irritated her but he deserved what he got. Robb was too easy and soft with him. Oh, she knew that he considered him to be a brother and friend, but that was the last thing he would ever be. Arya would easily name Jon a Stark rather than Theon if given the chance.

Jon was good. Honourable. Loyal. So much like father. In face, temperament, and eyes. Her father's eyes. _My eyes_.

"Do you think we can find him?" Meera said. She looked unsteady on her horse. But that was somewhat expected. The crannogmen lived in the swamplands of the Neck. They don't have any real need for horses. When Meera told her that Jon had barely been on a horse, she couldn't believe it. He rides like he was born to it. She didn't understand what exactly makes them so craven. Meera doesn't appear to be craven. Jojen though ... Something was awfully strange about him. He's been spending most of his time praying underneath the heart tree in the godswood. _He reminds me of Father too somehow_.

"I know we will"

"We don't have any clue as to where he could be though!"

"We will find him Meera!"

* * *

The wolf plagued his thoughts as he wandered around the area. _Just what was she trying to tell me?_

Suddenly, he heard something move. Jon began to hope and pray that the wolf was coming back; giving him an answer to its presence. _Was there some meaning as to why the direwolf came to me?_

"Who are you and what're ya doin'?" a thin wiry man said, coming from behind a large sentinel.

"My name is Jon. My horse took me here and ... it appears I'm lost"

"Well, you're in luck, lad. Name's Watt. And no one knows these part of the woods like I do."

"Do you mind telling me just where we are?" Jon asked as he kept walking alongside Watt.

"Well, we just past the Long Lake about a couple o' paces past. We keep at this pace, well, we should be headed toward the Last Hearth. Can't ever understand why anyone would build a keep so close to the northern mountains"

"Why? Why would they?"

"You're not from around these parts, aren't you lad? What'd you say you're name was?"

"Jon. Jon Snow" he said somberly.

"A Snow, eh? Never met a bastard before. You sure you're a Northman? Well, you've certainly got the look of one!" Watt japed.

"Not exactly. I grew up south as North would be. In the Neck"

"The Neck?! Ya mean to tell me that you grew up with them nasty bog-devils?!"

"OY! I did, and I consider them to be my family! The Reeds have always been my family!" Suddenly, his mind raced to Meera. Was she worried about me? She often worries too much.

A loud and strange guttural sound came howling about. Suddenly, a thick, blond-haired man, with watery eyes and a large curved scythe in his hand came crashing out from a bush.

"Who or what the hell is that?" Jon cried out.

"The Weeper. You good with that sword, boy?" Watt said in a panicked voice.

"Not exactly!"

"Then ... RUN!"

Jon then grabbed Watt by one of his hands and began to run as fast as his legs could carry him.

The Weeper continued with a guttural war cry and began to make haste.

"Are we any where close to any of the mountain clans or the Last Hearth?!" Jon cried out

"Don't know. Sure hope so!"

Suddenly, they tripped on something. Jon had never felt more petrified with fear in his entire life. He had been able to bring down a lizard-lion once but that was mostly by sheer luck. He didn't know what drove him in that moment but suddenly, he gripped the blunted blade he had on his back and swung hard. The blunted steel crashing the steel of the Weeper's scythe. The Weeper's fighting was clearly wild but Jon's wasn't. He had manage to avoid the Weeper's attacks, blocking any blows from his scythe. Then, he struck him across the face.

Before the man could react, an arrow suddenly flew by. He looked behind him and saw an old man, huge and powerful, with a ruddy face and a shaggy white beard. He has a stained white leather eye patch and a cloak made of a snow bear with its head as a hood.

"Get off of my lands, you wildling weepin whore!" the large grizzled man said.

The Weeper immediately heeded his plea and ran off.

"You alright lads?" the man asked.

"W-W-We're alright, Mors?"

Mors suddenly looked to Jon, looking dazed and confused. "And who are you supposed to be, eh, lad?"

"My name is Jon Snow."

"Mors Umber. Most men call me Crowfood. Well, I'll be giant's uncle! For a moment there, I thought you were Ned Stark! You look enough like him"

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father"

Crowfood then looked at him even more confused. "You have more of the Stark look than his own boy, I'll tell you that much. Bastard or not, any blood of the Stark's is welcome into our home. And bring Watt with ya. He looks like he's gonna piss himself again!"


	5. Great and Small

"What happened?" he asked as he looked to the boys. Theon was more closer to a man than a boy, but he still behaves as such. Everything is a jape to him.

"It was all the bastard's fault!"

"Shut it, Theon!"

"It was and you know it, Robb!"

"Quiet! The both of you!" Ned then shouted, scaring them from their petty argument.

Robb and Theon then quieted. Both of them looked smaller as they both bowed their heads.

"Sorry, father" "Sorry, my lord"

Gods. There were at times when he saw much of his brother in Robb. Robb has his easy smile, his pride, he even laughs like him. But his looks are all Tully, and at his core, he is his son. But he seemed to act more like Brandon whenever Theon Greyjoy was around. He more than likely would have gone to that brothel in Wintertown had he not found out and quickly forbode him from doing so.

"I want the whole story. The truth"

Robb looked to Theon, and then looked to him.

"We were at our lessons with Maester Luwin. Theon ... he started to mock the Reeds. Jon rose out of his seat and defended them. Theon then insulted Jon, and decided to challenge Jon on the training grounds. Jon beat him, fair and square. But Theon accused him of cheating when Rodrik came. Lady Meera chastised him and Theon insulted her. Jon then punched him back into the mud. Jon left before we could notice. Arya too."

Now, Theon looked more like a frightened boy. Just as he was about to speak, Maester Luwin came in.

"Lord Stark! A raven came. From Last Hearth."

* * *

"You alright, lads?" Mors asked him and Wat as they both sat down. Mors than summoned a servant and brought them some food. Just some salted pork, and small pieces of bacon and bread.

"I'm as alright as I've ever been, Mors. Some wildlings are getting bolder"

"Aye. I've cut down a few. You're quite good with that sword of yours, boy!" Mors chuckled.

"Frankly, I never used it like that, my lord. In an actual fight" Jon said sheepishly.

"Ya sure about that now, laddy? You looked like a natural. A fucking legend! Har!"

"My lord, may I ask you something?" Jon asked

"Yer already are, but go right on ahead, Ser Snow! Har!"

Ser Snow. He had to admit, that had a nice ring to it. "I overheard a servant whisper not to anger someone named Crowfood. If I may ask, just who that is and why shouldn't I anger him?"

Mors' face then flushed a bit. "That'd be me, Ser Snow."

"Oh. Why would he call you Crowfood?"

"I think that's a story that my uncle would tell another day. Wouldn't you agree, uncle?" a voice chirped out. It was a tall, lanky young woman with dimpled chin, a snub nose, and freckles. Her brown hair was tied in a neat braid. A boy was right next to her who looked to just about Bran's age or a bit older, but a bit taller and with wider arms. In spite of his age, Benjen Umber looked quite fearsome and imposing.

"Arrana, Benjen. What're ya doin' here?" Mors asked.

"Benjen just came back from Old Castle, uncle. And the maester told me to give you this until Father and Jon come back from visiting Lord Karstark" Arrana said.

"And as I came back, two young ladies were inquiring about a young northern boy by the name of Jon"

"... Aye. This might be the lad they're looking for?" Mors then pointed to him.

"My lord, my lady." Jon said, bowing sternly to them both.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Jon. Please, let us take you to the stables. I'm certain these young ladies were quite worried about you"

As he made his way to the stables, he tried to stop himself from staring at Arrana. She was quite pretty. Her smile was wide and beautiful with bright white teeth that were straight as a blade's edge. Suddenly, he felt someone or something pounce on him.

"There you are! I told you we'd find him, Meera!" Arya said as she held on to his neck tightly. She then gave a hard enough slap on his shoulder. "Stupid. Why'd you run off?"

He didn't have an answer. "I thought I'd be in trouble for beating Lord Stark's ward into the dirt" he said numbly.

Meera then came close to him. "Stupid. You didn't have to run off like that!" she said, hitting his shoulder as well. "Ow. That hurt!"

"HAHAHA! Letting a couple a wee girls take you down!" said a large man, nearly seven feet tall. His doublet bears a roaring giant with broken silver chains on flame-red. Right beside him was a equally large and strongly built young man.

"Father! Jon!" Arrana and Benjen then crashed down on the two men.

"Looks like you've gotten beaten by a girl too, Lord Greatjon!" Arya sniggered.

"Hehehe! Looks like it, Lady Arya. Apologies lad, I'm Lord Jon Umber. Most men call me Greatjon. This here's my eldest son and heir, Jon, but everybody calls him Smalljon! Well, I'd be a wolf's bitch! You look like Lord Stark, but much prettier!" Greatjon giggled.

Smalljon? His son and heir is just about his height. And looks like he'd be growing to be much taller than him.

"Father. Lord Stark had been informed of Jon's arrival to Last Hearth. In turn, Uncle Hother received a raven informing us that he will be arriving with small party of northmen to retrieve him. Should we inform him of Lady Arya and ..."  
"Meera. Meera Reed"  
"... and Lady Meera's arrival as well?"

"'Course, lass. Until then, all of you will be staying here until Lord Stark comes." the Greatjon said.

* * *

As they settled into their temporary chambers, the youngest Umber siblings came.

"Care to see something extraordinary?" Their eyes shone with mischief. Benjen and Arya quickly took to one another easily.

Arrana and Benjen Umber led them out of the Hall and into the courtyard beyond, he turned to Bran and said, "Call me Ben, all the others do." "Then call me Rana. Ev'ryone else does"

"I'm just Jon, my brother Robb is Lord Stark."

"Yes my lo-, Jon." She smiled.

"What?"

"Come with us." They dashed off. They ran through the stables, up onto the wall and to the top of the highest of Last Hearth's wooden towers. Then Jon saw it, a thin white line on the horizon, just below the setting sun.

"Is that? Is that the Wall?" Meera asked.

"Yes, but watch."

As they watched, the sun passed behind the Wall, and the light shot along the length of the horizon, forming a glowing line as far as he could see.

"How?" Arya asked

"The ice reflects the sunlight, both out to the world and back in on itself. Somehow, the entire Wall lights up. You can only see it from here though, go any closer and the angle isn't right." Benjen explained

Jon then looked to Meera. Seeing how the light shined through her light brown hair and on her face. Her hair looked as if the setting sun was gently kissing it. Her moss-green eyes so beautiful and resplendent. She looks so ... lovely.

She tried not to look at him. But the way the fading light shined on his face; it made it look like his skin was made of steel. His grey eyes shining brighter than a star. Almost looking blue.

"It is beautiful. And extraordinary"


	6. Starry-Eyed

He's glad that they came back safe and unharmed. Jon especially. He couldn't bare it if something had happened to him. _I promised her_. But Howland had protected him all this time.

Robb and Theon. Perhaps it would have been better to have him fostered. Theon had been a good friend but Robb would practically turn into a different person around him, and would do anything for him. _He thinks of him like a brother, like I do about Robert._ But Theon can be a craven in certain manners, particularly now. And he would disregard anything involving him.

"Theon's my friend. I was helping him"

"And what of Jon?" Ned said. "Do you believe that it is right for Theon to apologize through you than do it himself?"

"N-No. B-But Theon ju -"

"Theon is a man grown who should know to accept the consequences rather than avoid them"

"He's my friend. Like a brother. You wouldn't understand," Robb says bitterly. "You'd bed duty and honor like a woman if you could."

It's ironic, really, that what keeps Ned from chastising Robb for his words is the fact that he does understand, and quite well. He knows what it means to do what to protect those you love. To do what is right. He knows what it is to be haunted by the choices you've made, by the rumors so complex that you have trouble knowing what's true. If he closes his eyes, he can still see her own eyes as if no time has passed, the color of violets in spring, a purple so startling and lovely that by the time a man was done staring at them he'd already fallen in love with no hope for escape. He sees her falling in his dreams sometimes, even still, even as happy as he is with Cat. He sees her body tumbling through the air only to be swallowed by surf and he knows he did not do right by her, no matter what lies are true and which truths are false.

"I understand what it means to protect someone. To care for someone. But Theon is to accept the responsibilities of his actions. They do not fall on you"

* * *

In that moment he hated Jon. Jon was everything he imagined a brother to be. Kind, loyal, caring, protective.

He would do anything for his brother. Because he was his brother, as much as Bran and Rickon.

But he could not help but feel a little bit jealous. He was the heir to the Winterfell and the North. He is a Stark yet he looks nothing like one. He could act like one all he likes but he could never look like one. It was the one thing he ever remembered asking the Seven one day when he was eight years old.

But neither the Seven or the Old Gods answered. They saw fit for him to inherit his mother's looks. Her fiery-red hair and crystal blue eyes. He cried to his father once and hung his head in shame that he didn't look like him. But he assured him that that his grandmother; Arya's namesake, bore the same kind of hair. Many of the mountain clans called "kissed by fire" because it is considered lucky.

Yet, he could not help but feel pangs of jealousy. Jealous that Jon immediately had their father's graces. Jealous that he looks like their father. Jealous that he was and had more of their father in him than Robb could ever try to. And then he felt himself hating himself for wanting nothing more than to name him the Bastard of Winterfell under his breath like his mother would do when she was in her chambers.

* * *

He couldn't believe it. He had to apologize. Apologize to the frogeaters. And apologize to the Bastard of Winterfell. The Bastard should be easier to apologize to.

"OY! Snow!" Theon called out.

He turned his head. Gods, he hates that. That bastard thinks he's better than him. He could see the smugness in his face. Long, solemn, and guarded - a true Stark.

"What is it?"

"I've come to you in sight of Gods and men to ask your forgiveness."

"I'd believe it if you didn't sound like someone being murdered"

"Doesn't matter. I'm a lord. You're nothing"

"I'd rather be nothing than a prideful undeserving get like you"

He then sauntered over him. Theon said rather snidely, "You could be named mud, you could be the greatest swordsman that ever lived. But know and remember this; you'll never be the Lord of Winterfell."

However, Jon _Snow_ simply retorted, "Neither will you."

No one knew just how Theon desperately wanted to become a Stark. And here was a mere child - bastard, looking and acting more of a Stark than he would ever be.

* * *

"I heard that the Greyjoy boy had lost to him!"

"He used trickery! He was raised by those frog-eaters!"

"It was a fair fight! Hullen, Desmond, and Tomard saw it themselves!"

He couldn't help but feel his chest swell with pride as he overheard the servants exclaim on how he beat the heir of the Iron Islands.

"Well, what did you expect from the nephew of Ser Arthur Dayne?!"

Arthur Dayne? He had only heard his name once from Howland. Arthur Dayne, the famed Sword of the Morning. The most true knight of the Mad King's kingsguard.

"Do you really believe that he's actually the child of Lord Stark and Lady Ashara?"

Lady Ashara? He had heard that name too. Howland told him about her. He had saw her when he attended the Tourney at Harrenhal. The sister to the famed Sword of the Morning. Her hair sleek and dark as a raven's wing and her eyes so beautifully haunting and a resplendent violet colour.

"I heard from Desmond that he's so graceful in his movement, that it was like he was dancing or something. I know it irritated the Ironborn arsehole!"

Up until now, he had never heard a single word about his mother. He asked Howland about her once but he simply told him that she was a beautiful maiden with the most kindest heart. Now he just had to know, just who was she? Did she know about him? Did she care? Did she love Lord Stark? Does she love me?


	7. Dornish

Ned found himself remembering of her as he lay beneath the trunk of the weirwood tree. The sleek dark hair as black as the midnight skies. Her beautiful eyes that looked like blossoming violets.

When he had heard word of her death, Ned had wept in private. He was married to Catelyn Tully. She had given him a son. He couldn't be seen grieving for another woman. He loved Cat. She was a wonderful woman. But there would always be a small piece of him that Ashara would hold. He had first met her at the Tourney of Harranhal. She'd been the most beautiful woman there, with her dark hair and her piercing violet eyes.

She'd danced with him that night. He'd been shy and unsure and awkward. She just laughed and told him he was a good dancer."Honor is a cold companion, Lord Ned," she had teased him later, the corner of her lips slightly curved upwards, "It's a woman's touch, a woman's kiss that keeps a man warm. I've always assumed you Northerners are appreciative of warmth." Her eyes, her lips, her pose, all radiated her mischievous nature and her unparalleled beauty.

They'd gone riding and watched the tourney. While they were riding together, their lips had gently embraced one another by the fourth day of the tourney. They had stopped for a rest and had tied the horses to trees. They'd been looking at the landscape, and Ashara had commented on how beautiful the land was, despite the horrible stories surrounding Harranhal. Ned had thought that she was the most beautiful thing there. And somehow, their lips had met and they had been kissing one another. Their hands began to roam around, touching and gently passing through each others bodies. They had become so entranced in that moment and didn't notice that their clothes had been removed, but then proceeded. He had not bedded as many woman as Robert but he was so amazed as to how perfect they fit in one another's bodies. And in his love-struck state, had promised to marry her, once his sister married Robert. Her smile somehow shined brighter.

It was a vow he would break some months later. Lyanna went missing, Brandon rode to King's Landing, he and Father died, and before Ned knew it, he was marching off to war with Robert. They'd needed the Riverlands, and Hoster Tully had only agreed to it if Ned would marry his eldest daughter, Catelyn, and Jon Arryn married his other daughter, Lysa.

All throughout his wedding night, Ned had thought about how wrong it was. Ashara should have been his bride, not Catelyn. Catelyn was beautiful and kind and lovely, but she was not Ashara. She was not Ned's love.

If things had been different - if Lyanna had not been taken - then Ned would have married Ashara. He would have done all he could to make get his father to agree. He would have ridden all the way to Starfall if that's what it took. But this was the way things were and now only Benjen remained of all those he had once loved.

Ned's heart clenched at the memory, guilt tearing at its strings.

* * *

"You seem rather distracted, Jon" Luwin said.

"Huh? Sorry. It's nothing. Please, let's continue with the lesson"

"Alright then, Robb. Can you try this one?" Luwin said, pointing to a part of the map.

"House Bracken. Sworn to House Tully. Their seat is Stone Hedge. Sigil: A red stallion on gold. On Thundering Hooves"

"Theon?"

"House Harlaw of Harlaw Hall. Sigil: a silver scythe on black. Reap the Dawn"

"Excellent. Jojen?"

"House Umber of Last Hearth. Sigil: a roaring giant with shattered chains on red-orange. Restrained then Released"

"Jon. Tricky one."

"House Volmark of Volmark. Sigil: a leviathan. On Water's Hand"

"Robb. Try ... this one"

"House Redwyne of the Arbor. Sigil: a cluster of grapes on azure. Ripe for Victory"

"Jon. I know its your ambition to be a hedge knight of sorts. So, try this one"

He pointed to a part of Dorne. Had Maester Luwin known?

"House Uller of Hellholt. Sigil: per fess rayonny. Abandon all Hope"

Luwin then began to point to other regions; hoping that he did not abandon his studies at the very least.

"House Tarly of Horn Hill. Sigil: a striding huntsman on green. First in Battle"

"House Glover of Deepwood Motte. Sigil: a silver gauntlet. With an Iron Fist"

"House ... Dayne of ... Starfall. Sigil: white sword and falling star crossed on lilac. Fallen and Reborn."

"Good. A good swordsman should keep his mind sharp as well as his sword. Well, I think that's enough of lessons. Go on, now"

Theon then gave a light shove with a slight of his shoulder, muttering something under his breath. Jon found himself thinking of Dorne. In many ways, the Dornishmen and Cranngomen had a lot in common. Both peoples used different methods of fighting. Both deemed cowardly. He had asked Harwin about her; if his father had indeed loved her. He simply replied that there may have been some kisses and some sweet words between them. But he could not truly say anything. Perhaps Maester Luwin knew something of her.

"Maester Luwin. May I please speak with you? I need to ask something"

"Of course, Jon, my boy"

"D-Did, um, did you know ab-about ..."

"You wish to know more about the Daynes?"

Jon felt his face redden. "What gave me away?"

"The way you seemed to stare in awe when I pointed to Starfall. When I was training in the citadel, I knew of many young boys who wished they could be sent to Starfall. To at the very least, glance at Dawn."

"I heard about it. Is it true that it was forged from a falling star?"

"I ... am not sure about that my boy. But I do know that the first Dayne had followed a falling star until it fell unto the place where Starfall would later be erected in."

"Amazing. But what I was actually trying to ask is, uh, well ..."

"Ashara Dayne?"

"You knew her?" Jon said, his eyes lighting up a bit.

"No. I can't say that I knew her. I had heard several men talk about her before when I first came to serve Winterfell. But it'd be best if you talk to Lord Eddard about it."

* * *

Jon knelt beneath the solemn-faced weirwood tree. He had once tried to pray in the small sept but could not do so. It felt so ... false.

He felt so peaceful. Content. He may not know what blood his mother had, but he undoubtedly knew that he had the blood of the First Men coursing through his veins.

He than began to drift into sleep, and dream. His dream had been full of sea cliffs that night, of bright red sands and crashing waves, of a beautiful woman with a queen's beauty, a gray-eyed babe at her breast, and his father gazing upon them both with abject adoration.

"Jon"

"Jon!"

"JON!"

He had awoken to the voice and face of Meera.

"Are you alright? Arya had been looking for you. She wanted to show you something"

"Huh? I'm alright, Meera. I just ... lost track of time" he said, gazing around the godswood.

"Jon. Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing. Its ... its just ..." Jon felt himself getting flustered. He could tell Meera almost anything. Why was it that he couldn't tell her this?

"Itsaboutmymtoher"

"What?" she giggled at his garbled sentence.

"Its just ... after we came back to Winterfell from Last Hearth, I heard some of the servants talk. I heard them say something about Lady Ashara Dayne. H-How she ... could be my mother"

"Oh." Meera sighed. "I think my father would have told you something more about your mother. I know that we're not your family, that the Starks are. But ... you can always think or see us ... as a family" she said.

"Howland. Lady Jyana. Jojen. Edd. You. Are and always be my family" He said, placing his hand over hers.

"Thank you, Jon. You will always be special to me. I ... never even thanked you for defending my honour from Theon. ... And Jojen's as well. You ... didn't have to"

Meera then gently rubbed a small circle on his palm. Her piercing green eyes bore into him, as she enveloped his neck in an embrace. Suddenly, she looked at him and kissed him. This kiss was wholly innocent, filled with affection if not longing or desire. Her lips tasted sweet. Jon then began to kiss her back, wanting to taste her lips; see just how soft they felt against his own. He tasted mud from the corners of her lips.

 _You could make a poultice out of mud to cool a fever. You could plant seeds in mud and grow a crop to feed your children. Mud would nourish you._

Suddenly, she began to pull him closer. Her back was now on the cold ground of the godswood. Before they could do anything else, Meera looked at him. She then lightly pushed herself away from him.

"I ... um, uh, I-I should go"


	8. Bolt-On

Just what on earth had he done? He kissed Meera. No, Meera was the one that kissed him. He should have stopped it. But he might have hurt her. Nor did he want to stop it. He had wanted to do more. He wanted to press their bodies closer. Sink his hands and gently caress her sweet beautiful hair. Taste her mouth again.

 _Gods, what is wrong with me? She had grown up with him by his side, known her all his life. I shouldn't be thinking this way!_ And yet, he didn't want the thoughts to stop. As embarrassing and strange it was, the thought of it was comforting.

* * *

When they gazed at each other as they broke their fast, they desperately put their heads down. Both of them seemed desperate to avoid one another. Not wanting to talk about what had transpired between them.

"JON!" someone shouted. It was Arya with Jojen trailing behind her. Jojen seemed to be more proficient with his archery; nearly beating Theon. He was also getting more proficient in using a sword.

"Meera and Jojen have been showing me how to use a spear! I wanted to show you yesterday!" Arya exclaimed. "Well then, by all means, show me!" he said. Jojen then handed her his spear. Arya's form was impeccable. She was as short and lithe as most crannogmen. And she has seen her archery; she's a natural. Arya might just thrive in the Neck.

"So, how was I?" she asked, her Stark-grey eyes shimmering with glee. "You did well. But don't keep it too close to your body" Jon said. Arya then nodded. Suddenly, someone yelled out her name; possibly that septa she doesn't like. Arya then scurried off.

"Jon. I actually wanted to talk to you about something" Jojen said. _Gods, please don't let it be about Meera._ "I want to go see the Dreadfort."

"The Dreadfort? Why on earth would you want to go to the Dreadfort?!" Jon cried out. The Dreadfort is ill-omened, for it is said that the Boltons still keep torture chambers and a special room where they hang the flayed skins of their enemies, including several Stark Kings of the North. The tales of the famed horrifying Dreadfort reached even Greywater Watch.

"I need to go there. I don't know how to explain it. But I need to get there" Jojen said. He wanted to protest. He had seen the Lord of the Dreadfort when he came to visit Lord Stark about a concern of wildlings close to the Lonely Hills. Roose has a plain face, beardless and ordinary, with his only noticeable feature being his eerie eyes, which are as pale and strange as two white moons. The lord was of average size with a soft and hairless body and his voice was spider soft. Something about him seemed so unworldly.

Jojen's need to go to the Dreadfort sounded strange. Like he was going to seek some kind of glory. But crannogmen were not built for glory, however. They were built for the back marshes. They were built to survive in the shadows, not sing in the sun. Not that he minded the sun. There were just too many men trying to take a crack at it.

"We'll leave at first light"

* * *

He had to admit that Jojen was becoming more in tune with the North as he had. He wasn't an accomplished horsemen but he was more than adequate.

"I think we're getting close to it. I can almost feel it" Jojen said. Feel it. The only reason that they are going to the Dreadfort is because Jojen had a feeling that he had to go there.

"We've passed the White Knife. We just need to keep heading west." Jon said.

"Jon. Are you ever going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what? Why you want to go to the Dreadfort and how you managed to convince me to go with you?"

"No. I mean the kiss between you and my sister" Jojen said in such a calm manner.

"Uh. Um. I-I don't know what you're talking about?!" Jon exclaimed, feeling completely baffled as to how he knew about the kiss. _Did Meera tell him?_

"You didn't have to say anything and neither did Meera. But you seem to keep turning your heads and blushing when you're near each other"

Ohh, Seven Hells! Was he that obvious?!

"I, um, rather not talk about it, Jojen. Especially with you, all things considering" Jon said, feeling flustered as the words came out of his mouth.

"Understandable. I think we're close to the Weeping Water. We could be near the exact spot where King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf of the North crushed Argos Sevenstar" jojen said with a certain excitement in his voice.

"Jojen. Just ... why exactly are we going to the Dreadfort?"

"I just have a feeling about it. Well, a dream actually. I dreamt about them all; the Boltons. I dreamt of the Leech Lord and his skin looked as pale as ice, and beginning to leave him. I saw a centaur riding like the wind only to be cut down by a monstrous beast wearing a human's skin. I ... can't really explain it, but then this voice told me to go on forth. Stop the madness, it said."

Jojen had never really been the same since he had caught greywater fever. He wasn't the most liveliest person from the beginning but he certainly knew when was the time for fun and how to have it. His moss-green eyes had somehow become richer and darker. And yet, somehow, Jon understood as to why he had to go to the Dreadfort.

As the followed along the Weeping Water, they saw the faint lines of the Dreadfort up ahead. The Dreadfort looked like a strong fortress, with high walls and triangular merlons that look like sharp stone teeth. It has thick stone walls and massive towers.

"I told you I'd win! Pay up, boys!" someone happily shouted.

They suddenly turned their heads to the apparent group that was coming their way. The leader among them riding a dark horse, riding like the wind. Suddenly, the three horsemen came to a halt.

"Who are you two? And what are you doing in my father's lands?" he asked in an authoritative way but yet kindly manner.

"I'm very sorry. We were just pass ..."

"You're Domeric Bolton. The son and heir of Lord Roose"

"How did you know my name?"

"Your lord father came to talk to Lord Stark about some matters. He had mentioned you in passing"

The youth Domeric Bolton looked perplexed by Jojen's explanation.

"He had? Well, thank you. Yes, I am indeed Domeric Bolton. Son and heir to Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort. And these are my two companions: Ser Waymar Royce and Mychel Redfort"

Domeric Bolton did not look a thing like his father. He was comely, straight as a lance with long dark-brown hair that neatly reached his shoulders. He seemed more Ryswell than Bolton. The only Bolton thing about him was his eyes: pale as stone but darker than milk. Almost like two chips of dirty ice. Lean and lithe and emitted a certain grace about him.

His companions seemed similar to him. Waymar Royce is handsome, graceful and slender, with grey eyes. But whereas Domeric emitted grace and civility, Waymar emitted nothing but arrogance and vanity. Mychel Redfort has a angular rough hewn face and golden-brown hair that somehow enhanced the splendor of his hazel eyes.

"How about you answer Dom's first question as to what you're doing on his lands?" Waymar asked, his hand going for his sword.

"Patience, Waymar. We Remember. How much you can't wait for anything" Mychel guffawed.

"We had been passing by. We are wards of Lord Eddard Stark. This is Jojen Reed; son and heir of Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch."

"You're a crannogman? I should have guessed it but I never seen a crannogman myself. It's a pleasure to meet you. And you are?"

"My name's Jon Snow, my lord"

"A bastard. And to think, my father wants me to rut around with your kind!"

"Shut it, Waymar. You don't know a thing about him"

"And I did promise you that you could easily be a men-at-arms at the Dreadfort"

"Won't matter. A Royce can always rise to glory. Even if it means to lead thieves, rapers and bastards like this ilk."

"He may be a bastard but he's a son of winter. A son of House Stark!"

"Ohh. So, he's what then? The Snow of Winterfell?"

"I'd rather name you Ser Waymar Stone if this is how a knight is to behave. You couldn't be more truer than if it begins to snow in Dorne"

Suddenly, Waymar Royce pursed his lips together. He then got off his horse, and removed his sword from his swordbelt.

"You think you're better than me, Snow? How about you prove yourself? Royce's always remember. And I'll certainly remember crushing Snow underneath my boots"

"Jon ..."

"I accept. But I haven't a sword on me"

"Considering that you are bein challenged in the midst of my lands, then here. I will lend you my sword, Jon Snow" Domeric said kindly.

Both of them readily got into a steady position; staring each other down.

"OY! Jon! Do us all a favour and kick Royce into the snow for all of us!" Mychel Redfort shouted. "For even snow can be as strong as stone!"

This comment seemed to send Waymar into a rage. Charged in head first. He moves quite gracefully but his swings are heavy. Jon is quicker though. Their sword begin to clash furiously. Neither one of them wanted to back down. Jon pressed his blade down, tightening his grip. Waymar pushed back and tried to give him a backhanded strike but Jon easily parried it. Waymar suddenly tried to cut his face but only cut the air.

He is prideful, he's trying to kill me. Jon then aimed for his swordhand. He sliced around his swordhand. Cutting enough for Waymar to wince in pain that he easily knocked off his sword. Jon then kicked him to the ground and placed the sword by his chest.

"Do you yield?"

Waymar said nothing but simply breathed as heavy as a lizard-lion.

"Do you yield?"

"... Yes"

Jon then approached Domeric to return his sword. "You are quite the swordsman, Jon. You ought to fight in the Kingsguard!" Domeric said.

"Thank you, Lord Domeric"

"Dom. Please, that's what all my friends call me."

* * *

Domeric, Waymar, Mychel, Jojen and Jon went down to the Dreadfort. Its great hall is dim and smoky, with rows of torches grasped by skeletal human hands jutting from the walls. Long tables stand before a dais with a high table. The hall has a vaulted ceiling and wooden rafters turned black from smoke.

They then found themselves in the presence of two men. One was a small stoop-shoulder man dressed in grey. He must be the maester.

"Lord Domeric! it is so good to see you again, my boy" the maester greeted him.

"It is good to see you again as well, Uthor. But I am just the heir to the Dreadfort. Enough of this. Where's Lynara?" Domeric asked.

"Oh. I'm afraid then I bring some rather grievous news, my lord. Your lord father had passed. Twas a sickness of the bowels. His ... um, son had come to inform me of it"

Son? But Domeric is the only son of Roose Bolton.

"Son?" Domeric exclaimed.

"Oh, yes. I'm terribly sorry about this. Lord Roose had come to invite your ... bastard brother to the Dreadfort. This is him; Ramsay Snow"

He is big boned and slope shouldered, with a fleshiness indicating he will be fat later in life. Ramsay's skin is pink and blotchy, his nose broad, his hair long and dark and dry. Although his mouth is small, Ramsay's lips are wide and meaty, wormy looking, and he smiles a wet-lipped smile. His distinctive eyes resemble Roose's - small, close-set, and oddly pale, like two chips of dirty ice.

"Lord Domeric Bolton. It's an honour to meet with you, dear brother" Ramsay said, and in that same spidery-soft voice of Roose Bolton's.

"Jon" Jojen whispered, tugging at his doublet.

"It's him. It's the monster"


	9. Tempered

She aimed another arrow dead center.

"I've got to admit, you're quite good ... for a frog-eater"

"Shut it, Greyjoy"

"Ooh, someone's cranky!"

"D'ya want me to aim the next arrow to your head?", she said, turning to face the Greyjoy and aiming her bow at him threateningly.

Theon then raised his hands in a mocking surrender and left.

She kept notching and loosing arrows into the dummies and targets.

"Did someone anger you?"

Just as she turned, thinking it to be Theon again, she saw two familiar lovable tykes she took to. "Able" Arya and Righteous Rickon.

Meera often thought that if Arya were a bit older, than Lord Stark would not mind marrying her to Jojen. She often wanted a sister and she could bring back much of the life that her brother once had.

"No one has angered me Arya"

Rickon then went off to get the arrows off of where she had launched them all. He then held them up gleefully.

"You seem very mad Meera" he squealed out. Meera took a quick look at them. Nearly forty arrows.

"Huh. I guess I was pretty mad"

"Who were you angry at?"

She almost wanted to say that she was angry at Jon. With his niceties, and that stupid grin of his. But no, she could never truly be angry at him. At times, she could be annoyed with him. But never angry.

In truth, she was more angry at herself than Jon. _Why did I have to go on and kiss Jon. What in the Gods was I thinking?_

"Uh, I'm a bit angry at myself, Arya"

"What would you have go be angry at yourself for?"

"Its a story for another time. When you are older, mayhaps"

Arya looked at her with those sharp grey eyes. She could cut a man's head off with that hard stare. She then relented with a shrug and began to show Rickon the proper postions for archery. The boy was only six years old yet she could tell that he would grow into a strong and proud warrior.

Rickon then launched an arrow in the center with such ease that it almost scared her.

* * *

"Lord Brother of mine", the slope-shouldered man said.

Jojen was right. The young man did look something of a monster with his slope-shoulders, pale blotchy skin and his pale icy blue eyes. He suspected that even if he dressed finely, he would still look rather ugly.

"Ramsay. It's a pleasure to meet you." Domeric said with a smile and a bit of unease.

"DOM!" a young woman screeched out, leaping on to Domeric and hugging him tightly. She is a rather lovely sight for a Bolton. Long brown hair neatly tied to a braid that fell to her left shoulder. a slight and lithe build, pale skin as white as the moon and bright blue eyes like stars.

She bore a small cut of garnet on her ear that resembled a drop of blood. The Boltons's sure have an interesting taste. If the Night's Queen looked like her, he could see why the Thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch could be enticed.

"Lynara. These a few friends of mine. This is Ser Waymar Royce, Mychel Redfort, Jojen Reed and Jon Snow"

She greeted them all fairly and courteously but as she came to him, she saw her skin brighten a bit.

"Its a pleasure to meet you all. Mychel, I can assume you have kept my beloved brother out of harm's way in your home, and out of trouble?"

"As much as we could, my lady. Jon and Jasper love him like a brother as much as I do. My elderly lord grandfather Horton had him knighted recently for his bravery against the Stone Crows. He had also wanted me to give your lord father a message but considering that Dom is a lord now, it may be best to bring the matters to you my lady."

"Uthor, Lynara. May you show my friends to the guest chambers, please? I'd like to talk to my ... brother Ramsay"

"As you wish my lord. But mayhaps it'd be best to have one of the men-at-arms to ... accompany you?"

Frankly, he would have advised that as well, and Domeric seemed to have taken the message well. Something about Ramsay Snow made him uneasy. "Walton!" A man with steel groves along his long legs then came to his side. Both Bolton brothers made their way to the Lord's chambers.

"That Ramasy is a true scion of House Bolton" Jojen muttered under his breath.

If everything he had heard about the Boltons was true, the madness of the descendants of the Red King seemed to be more evident in Ramsay rather than Domeric.

* * *

She did not like this situation one bit.

Ned had told her that he had fathered a child on another woman, but that his loyal bannerman and trusted friend Howland Reed had willingly offered to take the child into his care. For that, she could fortgive her husband until he made mention that it would likely have been better if he had been brought to Winterfell, along with her son.

Ned had not truly forgiven her for the way she reacted. He had told the truth as he had always done. Yet, that did not stop such feelings of unease. Arya and Rickon had already found themselves taken with the boy. Robb did as well but it seemed that whatever friendship that would have been forged had been halted, for now at least. There had been some sort of tension between the two ever since Theon Greyjoy challenged him to a duel, foolhardily believing that he would easily win.

What she dislike the most was how much he looked like Ned. Her Ned.

 _But he was not always your Ned_ , a voice in her head said. And that much was true. If things were different, if times were different, she would love him more. But at one point in time, she believed herself to be in love with his brother Brandon. And in spite of having so many happy years with Ned, that would somehow be brought up in so many different ways. And that seemed to renew doubt in her lord husband's heart.

The day of their wedding still burned bright in her mind. How nervous they both seemed. How ecstatic Lysa was in marrying Lord Arryn's son and heir; the Darling of the Vale. The dance they shared. Their bedding, which Ned had at first spurned her. "You are not comfortable with me, nor I with you". How truthful and hurtful that was yet correct.

He had been going to the Godswood more and more lately. The man she loves, who held no secrets, had not been close to her as of late. Who had not come to her bed lately. She missed him. And its likely that bastard's fault. How dare he just show up. She knew how the world worked; how different it is for men than for women. Did his bastard bring up feelings of his mother? Was she his first love?

She would ask him what is on her mind right now, this instant. As she opened the door of the lord's chambers, Ned seemed to be busy with some documents. "Ned. I need to ask you something." Just as Ned cocked her head up to eye her, Maester Luwin came to the door.

"Apologies, my lord. But I have received word from the Dreadfort. Lord Roose Bolton has passed due to a sickness of the bowels and his heir Domeric had come back from the Vale to take his rightful place. Also, Lord Domeric writes that Jojen Reed and Jon Snow are his guests and will stay for the time being."


	10. Where I Stay

He did not like it. Even as a boy, his father had told him not to put too much stock in a Bolton. Their words were famed yet it was their saying that made them the more feared. "A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man none". It made them as infamous as the Lannister's saying on how they pay their debts.

From what he could gather, Lord Roose's bastard, Ramsay Snow, had come around the same time as his father passed. That could not be a coincidence. A Stark in the Dreadfort, even a Stark bastard, would not be a good thing. He heard little from Roose's son and heir Domeric, only that the young man had a love of horses and riding that rivaled even his brother and sister.

Jon. Jon. He could never forgive himself if anything happened to him.

* * *

While the castle itself was quite a fearful sight, the grounds were quite beautiful. Lush and green and well-kept.

He often trained with Nage, a Dreadfort man-at-arms and Mychel Redfort. The Redfort boy, who was a year older than him, had told him that he is still a squire for Ser Lyn Corbray of Heart's Home; a fearsome knight who had slain a Prince of Dorne during the Rebellion. Mychel made for a good sparring partner, and if the way he fights is any indication, he may just be one of the best young swordsman in the Vale.

"You're good, Jon. Very good, natural talent and swift movements. You might be the best swordsman in the North. Well, next to Dom."

"Really? Thank you. I'd like to meet up on that challenge," Jon said wiping his brow.

"You just might. If he ever stops talking to that brother of his."

Ramsay Snow. Something about him irked Jon, and it wasn't that they bore the same surname. "What do you think of him, my good ser?"

"I'm not a ser, not yet anyways. But something about him does ... unnerve me. I got chills just being near him."

"It's just the chill of being a Snow, Redfort," Waymar said, sauntering toward him.

"For once in your life, can't you remember to shut your mouth, Royce? Unless of course, you want Jon **_Snow_ ** to kick you in the **_snow_ ** again!" Mychel mocked him. Waymar grimaced at that, seething at his defeat at my hands.

"What's going on around here?" the young Lord of the Dreadfort said as he came to the grounds with his lovely sister in arm.

"Not much, my lord. Though you may want to put this upjumped bastard in his place. He's been going on making claims that he's the best sword in the North!" Waymar exclaimed with his smug smile armed on his face.

"That was not what I said. I didn't even say that?!" Jon exclaimed while Mychel shot Waymar an incredulous look. Waymar's smugness did not leave his face.

"I wouldn't dare say that I'm the best in the North, but I'd like to take you up on that challenge!" Domeric said with a smile on his face.

Nage then came to them bearing swords for them to take. The steel was unblemished; feeling fresh from the forge.

He and Dom began to circle around one another until one of them made the first strike. It was almost like fighting Waymar, but much different. Dom's strikes were quicker and used with deadly precision. Dom is also lithe and slender, much like Jon except taller and older, and slightly more muscled. But he was undeniably more skilled than Jon. Jon barely brought his blade to meet his opponent's, parried, and spun on his feet, placing space between him and Dom. It didn't do much, as Dom simply turned towards Jon, swinging his sword and taking advantage of the momentum of his sharp turn.

He deflected Domeric's blow once again, grimacing while he did so, but forcing him to shove him away. He couldn't afford the newly dubbed Dread Knight to get into a rhythm of strikes, where he might overpower Jon if he continued to swing at him with the same strength as he did with the last two.

"You're good."

Jon didn't humour the "Dread Knight" with a reply, instead lunging at him.

To his satisfaction and surprise, and managed to land a blow on Dom's side. The Bolton grimaced, giving Jon a strong strike in retaliation, knocking the air out of Jon's lungs.

The Dread Knight lifted his sword up once again, and brought it down to hit Jon again. Jon parried and deflected the blow, and tried to return it, only for it to be blocked by him once again.

The two swordsman traded blows, both blocked each other's strikes with equal skill. Just as quick as him, Jon was amazed at his own abilities for helping him fight Dom for as long as he did.

Their fight must've seemed like a storm of swords to any onlooker, as their blades sang and flew. Jon had not realized he had been grinning, _This is the type of fighting I live for. The kind of fight I've yearned for._  
They slashed and lunged at each other, for how long Jon didn't know. He didn't care, as all his attention was focused on blocking and dodging Dom's sword. They were both in their own rhythm of strikes, though neither of their strikes landed a good blow.

Jon never found himself thinking, he didn't have any time. All he could do was let his body guide his movements and actions. At this point, he didn't care whether who won or lost, he would have been satisfied with seeing the end of the match…

Suddenly, Lynara Bolton flung herself between the two. Domeric immediately stopped himself in the middle of his lunge, as to not hurt his sister, and Jon stilled himself at the sight of a pedestrian caught between thee.

"Enough, good sers!" Lynara cried out, "Let us call a draw. Well fought, both of you, but I'm afraid the Wall will melt before we see the end of this dual."

He didn't realize how tired he had become, until he shook hands with Domeric. Peals of laughter flooded around the two, as men and women clapped their backs and complimented them on their skill.

"Well fought, you two. Well fought!" Mychel said as he clapped his hands in celebration. Jojen had cheerily slapped him on the back.

"You fight like a true knight, Jon Snow. Are you though?"

"I fear not, my lord," he said humbly, feeling himself blush for having received such praise. He then took a look a Waymar, who's smug smile turned into a fierce and ugly scowl filled with scorn. Lynara then gave him a incredulous look filled with mirth.

* * *

They had nearly reached the Dreadfort, and should be there within another hour or so.

Robb looked sorrowful to say the least. The relationship between them had been a bit strained due to Theon's actions. It was all he could want and ask for, when he had thought to bring Jon to Winterfell. That they grew close as brothers.

He knew that Arya and Rickon wanted to come with him to bring Jon back. Seeing his youngest daughter and his nephew together reminded him so much of his sister and brother and him. The wolves part of a pack.

Meera. Meera had come with them as well. While she claimed it was because of her brother, he could somehow sense it was about Jon as well. Ned Stark could hear the worry in her voice. Something was occurring between the two youths.

But he could pay to that matter another day. Right now, he needed to see how this new lord fared. And bring Jon back to the safety of Winterfell.

* * *

This weirwood was so different from Winterfell's. Whereas the face of the tree in Winterfell was solemn and melancholy, this weirwood was angry and in agony.

"Not exactly a pleasant sight. isn't it?" a rather cheeky voice called out. He then turned to see Domeric's sister Lynara. In the dim light of the godswood, her skin looked like soft porcelain; delicate to the touch.

"Not exactly, but each godswood and heart tree does have its own unique beauty, I think," Jon replied, trying not to blush.

"I guess you're right. But you haven't seen many godswoods, have you? I'm certain the Neck doesn't have an abundance of them," Lynara japed.

That was true. The swampy grounds made it fairly difficult to grow certain plants. "No. But Greywater itself is made of a giant weirwood tree. If you'd like, I can show it to you. I'm certain Jojen and Meera wouldn't mind showing their home as well"

"Truly? I would love to see the Neck in all its glory!" Lynora said with a smile on her face. "So, were you praying for something?" she asks

"I prayed what I always prayed for. The safety of both Meera and Jojen, but lately also the safety and protection of my brothers and sisters," he explained.

"You hold them that dear to your heart?" she asked. That he did. Though he felt as if Robb hated him, he was and will be his brother and would like to get to know him more. He never even knew just how much he wanted a younger sister until he met Arya, and she was all she could want in one: easy to love, fierce, free-spirited, kind, protective. Sansa, a perfect southron lady meant for southron courts, ever courteous and kind, yet paid little to no mind to him. Not that he minded much anyway. Rickon and Bran, such lively and rambunctious children, though he felt as if Rickon were more the warrior in spite of his very young age. He could tell that Bran tried his hardest in his training. "Yes, I hold them all quite dear to my heart"

"They're very lucky to have a handsome protective older brother in you then. It warms my heart and gladdens me so. I had been quite lonely since Dom had been sent to foster at the Redfort. I had spent most of my time with my cousins at Barrowton. You should come some time! I'm certain Uncle Willam and Aunt Barbrey would love to meet you!"

Before he could respond, a Bolton man-at-arms came by. "My lady, Lord Stark has come"

Lord Stark? Himself? He knew that he was likely informed as to where he and Jojen was, but why would he come himself?

Lynara then linked her arm around his as they walked to the castle grounds. As he came to them, he saw that Lord Stark looked quite worrisome? Why would he be worried? I'm just his bastard. From what he knew and learned, high lords don't care about their bastards. Yet, from what he did know, he cared about him enough to leave him behind at his loyal bannerman. That is what most lords do.

Just as he bowed, Lord Stark came close to him. He must be angry I left without leave. For all he knows, he likely thinks that I dragged Jojen along. But suddenly, he felt Lord Stark's strong arms wrap around him. A sigh of relief came out of him.

He then saw Robb who looked remorseful to say the least. Robb then gave him - or tried to give - a bone-crushing handshake. Then drew him into a hug. It felt ... strange to say the least.

Meera then gave him a longing look. That look which always meant that he was loved and safe. The look that always told him that nothing could happen to tear them apart. But what if it were wrong? The last thing he'd want to do is hurt her.

"I'm glad you're alright and safe. You too, Jojen. Don't leave without consulting me next time. Just ... don't leave," Lord Stark said. This was something different. He sounded almost like Howland. Such a sadness filling his voice. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around him, and he returned the gesture.

This is what if feels like ... the warmth and love of his father. It feels so ... nice. In that moment, no doubts clouded his mind.


	11. Frost

There was naught to do about in Winterfell. He already come to love the castle but part of him yearned to see more of the North. He had lived in the Neck for most of his life. Mayhaps he should ask Lord Sta - Father - to accompany him when he goes off visiting some of the Northern lords? He still found it uncomfortable to call him Father.

He often found himself looking down at Winterfell's courtyard from either his chambers or from the Broken Tower. It often gave him a perfect view of the castle as a whole. And from a distance, he could see the Wall. It made him wonder just what lies beyond. He knew that there were many wildlings that had settled but he had formally met one before. Other than the Weeper. Nor had he met any men of the Night's Watch. He had heard that his Uncle Benjen was a ranger at the Wall, though he had yet to meet him.

As his gaze drifted back on to the Wall, he found himself thinking of Maester Luwin's lesson again. Dorne. Mayhaps there was something in Dorne he could find that he couldn't in the North? Mayhaps once knighted, I should roam around the kingdoms as a hedge knight? Mayhaps I could take Bran on as my squire. He's so eager to learn.

What am I meant for? He couldn't help but think that. Roaming the south as a hedge knight? Wandering about the large expansive lands beyond the Wall? But I am only three-and-ten, there's plenty of time to figure that out. Isn't there?

* * *

Just what was it about him? He wanted to reach out to him and call him brother. He had always wanted a brother; a brother close to his age that he could play and train with. Not that he didn't love Bran and Rickon. And he absolutely adored Arya; the both of them did truly.

Yet, he found himself at a crossroads. He loved Theon like a brother but Jon _was_ his brother. And Theon can be an arse at times, and from what he had known and seen, Jon was a good a brother as he was a person.

He decided to go find him. Jon would either be in his chambers by now. But he wasn't. Where could he be?

"If you're looking for Jon, he should be by the Broken Tower," a voice called out to him. He realized who it was as he looked to see Arya staring at him, accusingly, unflinching. Jojen by her side, but paid little mind to it.

"What makes you think I'm looking for Jon?"

"Your stupid face shows it. And you should apologize for being as much of an arse as Theon was!"

There was nothing he _had_ to apologize for, but he definitely needed to. He defended Theon easily, and he had spoken up for Jon in his defense. Yet, he had felt guilty for everything he had thought shortly after. He wanted to be Jon's brother: a real brother. I've been a craven. When did Arya become so wise?

He then climbed all the way up to the Broken Tower and found Jon, simply staring out into the distance.

"Oy. Jon?"

"Oh. Hey, Robb."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Not much. Just looking around ... and thinking."

"Yeah. I've been thinking too. I haven't exactly been the best brother to you. In all honesty, I was, and still am, a bit jealous of you. You're already twice the swordsman and horseman than I'll ever be. Anyway, I just want to say that I'm sorry for having been a bit of a jealous and stupid brother to you."

"There's nothing to forgive." Jon said, flashing a small smile.

* * *

I wonder just where he could be? Things weren't as much fun without Robb by his side.

Just as he began his search for him, he had heard a large howl of laughter. He then looked up and saw him. Along with the bastard.

They seemed to be having a grand old time. Laughing together as if they didn't have a care in the world. They actually seemed to act and look like brothers.

Why the hell should I care? I'll just ask Jory to come with me.


End file.
